By The Hands of Sherlock Holmes
by DeafLord28
Summary: AU. John comes back from the army, but he has come home injured. He has become Deaf. What will he do? Will he manage to find a new way of life? What happens when he meets a detective and they become flat mates. Johnlock in later chapters. Rated T just to be safe. ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE!
1. Chapter 1

**By The Hands of Sherlock Holmes**

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 **Hi people! This is my first ever "publish" writing, so please, tell me what you think. (Don't go easy on me just because I'm new. I want honest opinions.)**

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I do want to say one quick thing before you guys get started, I understand that in Britain they BSL (British Sign Language) but I will be using ASL (American Sign Langue) Because that is my language. I wrote this story because I myself am Deaf (hence the name DeafLord...) and I wanted to write a story using Deaf Themes. So, anyway, on with the story

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I do not own Sherlock or any characters related. All right to the original creators.

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(Unless stated otherwise, whenever John speaks out loud, he also signs. Thank you.)

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Chapter 1

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John sat in the silence. He had learned to enjoy the peaceful noiselessness. He hadn't heard any sound in a while now. It had been 13 months; 13 months of silence; 13 months out of the army. He had gone Deaf in Afghanistan when he was treating a patient. A screech bomb went off a 1/8 of a mile off and had managed to explode John and the other two people in the tent's ear drums. Now, he heard nothing. He had had to learn to read lips and use sign language to communicate, but no one he knew well had been willing to learned with him. He didn't have anyone to talk to, or at least anyone who would use his new language. Now, it was very difficult to hold a conversation, so he did his best to avoid them. That is why he was sitting on the park bench, watching all the families having an outing. He missed being able to go to the park as a kid to play with Harry. He missed a lot of things nowadays. He was thinking about his childhood when and old college friend, Mike Stamford, sat down beside him. He was obviously saying something, but John couldn't hear him.

"Hey. Sorry Mike. I can't hear you. I've lost my hearing." John said and signed. Mike's expression change to one of pity. He mouthed the words, "Sorry, mate." he sat there for a little bit, before pulling out a legal pad and pen. He began to write, "How did it happen?"

John took the pad and wrote about the war and the bomb and his life so far out of the army. He finished with the sentence, "I can't afford London on an Army pension." Mike smirked as he wrote, "You couldn't bear to be anywhere else though. Couldn't Harry help?"

John actually laughed, and replied, "Like that'll happen"

Mike shrugged and wrote, "Well, why not get a flat share or something?"

John laughed, though it was a sorrowful laugh, and replied, "Come on – who'd want me for a flat mate?" Mike looked stunned as he read that. He looked at John, then wrote, "You're the second person to say that to me today."

John didn't bother to write, "Who was the first?"

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Sherlock was looking through his microscope, observing a new bacteria, when Mike Stamford entered the room, greeting Sherlock cheerfully. "I have already talked with this man today." He thought. "I had talked about wanting to get a flat mate but I don't think anyone would be willing to handle me. Me and my lab equipment, and my skull on the mantel, and my work. So, Mike must have found someone who was willing. Why else would he be back here again? Mike hadn't left his phone or anything."

All of these thoughts went through Sherlock's brain as fast as it took to blink. In that blink, a man had walked in behind Mike. "An army man, obviously. He has been injured." Sherlock thought. He continued to make deduction after deduction about this new person. He quite liked what he observed. He hadn't said a word since the men had entered. Suddenly he looked up from his germs, stared at John and said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Mike tried to stop Sherlock. He hadn't explained that John was Deaf, but John had simply smiled at Sherlock. He said as he signed, "Sorry, I can't hear you. I'm Deaf. Um...Here," He handed Sherlock his phone and said, "Type it up in the notepad."

John had thought that if this was the man Mike had thought was a good flat mate from him, then he might need to find someone else. He had assumed that Mike knew of a Deaf person who was in a similar predicament. He had been thinking to himself as Sherlock typed out, "Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" John stared at Sherlock. How did he know he had been in war? "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?" He looked over to Mike, said, "Oh, you ... you told him about me?"

Mike shook him head has if to say, "Nope, not a word." He looked back at Sherlock who was typing quickly. Sherlock had tossed John's phone at him, and returned to his germs. It read, "I play the violin when I'm thinking. I assume that won't bother you, with your hearing impairment. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." John looked at Sherlock, astonished, "Who said anything about flat mates?"

Sherlock had looked up with a look that said, "Really?" He grabbed the phone back and typed, "I did. I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

John looked up at the curly-haired man in front of him with disbelief on his face. "How did you know about Afghanistan?"

Sherlock hadn't answer. Instead he put on his scarf and pulled out his phone. He looked at it for a while, and then he looked over and smiled at John, making sure he had good eye contact and said, "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.' He got up and walked to John. He stopped in front of him, again he made sure he had good eye contact before saying, "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash."

He turned to go, but was stopped by John asking, "Is that it?"

Sherlock turned around and established eye contact "Is what it?"

John looks flabbergasted, "We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat? We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

Sherlock looked at John for a moment, as if calculating something about the ex-soldier in front of him, then pulled out his phone and typed, "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. I also know that you when Deaf in the military, because you use words like, 'Gotta' and 'Gonna', which are slang words. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He handed the phone to John and let him read.

John stared at the message and read it twice. This man is a genius. Either that or a stalker. John handed back the phone, still completely puzzled. As Sherlock took back his phone, he signed, "My name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B. Baker Street." With that and a wink, he left.

John turned to Mike and gave a small, almost hysterical laugh. This man was mad, but wonderful some how. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but he knew it would definitely be interesting.

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Sorry for this being a short chapter. I know what it's like to read a story and then wait for weeks for the next chapter, so I will do my best to put up the next chapters every Wednesday, by 3:00 Mountain Time Zone. Please, review. I would love to know what you think. Questions? Comments? Snide Remarks? Let me know.

~Ciao for now, DeafLord28 ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**By The Hands of Sherlock Holmes**

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 **Hello all! I couldn't stay away, so I decided to post another chapter! Yay! This probably won't be a regular occurrences. Anyway, you don't want to hear me talk, so on with the story!** (Just a quick note, I am aware that Britain uses BSL (British Sign Language) but I am using ASL (American Sign Language) because that is my language. I am Deaf so I use the language I am most familiar with.)

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I don't own Sherlock or any related characters. All rights to the original creators. I am making no profit from this. No infringement intended.

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Chapter 2

John found himself, the next day, riding on his way to 221 B Baker Street. He had no idea what he was going to find, but he was oddly excited. He had been in a depression ever since he had left the army and he hadn't felt happiness or excitement in a while. He had brought along a note pad to write on, as it seemed that that was the only way to communicate; or was it? Sherlock had signed that last sentence in ASL, maybe he did know sign. His head had been rushing with thoughts all day. He was intrigued by this man. He had always claimed to be straight, but he found himself fantasizing about being with Sherlock, in a café, eating and chatting in ASL. He wasn't sure if these were hopeful thinking or...something else.

He was jolted out of his daydreams when the cab stopped in front of a row of apartments. He got out of the cab and saw the marvelous, mysterious, man called Sherlock Holmes standing by the front door. He smiles a bit before silently signing, "Hello. Good Morning Mr. Holmes."

He didn't think that Sherlock would truly understand what he had said, but he figured, well, it was at least worth a try. Sherlock pulled out his phone and typed, "Sherlock, please."

As he hands the phone over he signs the sentence that he had written. John was astounded. He handed the phone back and shook Sherlock's hand. He grabbed his notepad and pen and wrote, "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive."

He decided that, ever if this man knew sign language, he was still brand new to it. He signed like he had been signing for a while now, but it was obvious that he didn't know any sign when he started chatting with the man yesterday. He must have started learning yesterday. Perhaps this flat mate would be alright. He was definitely different compared to all the flat mates he ever had. He was following Sherlock absently. The action felt so natural, as if he had always been following Sherlock around. The detective hadn't replied yet. He was simply typing. They had walked into the front entry. John had been so distracted with his own thoughts that he bumped into Sherlock's staled figure. Sherlock turned to face the shorter man, handing him his phone again. He established eye contact, signed and said, "Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. Few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

John was asking before he could stop himself, "Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?"

Sherlock replied, in voice only, immediately, "Oh no, I ensured it."

He then turned up the stairs to the room he assumed was to be their flat. He was continually astonished by this odd person in front of him. He had done a little research last night and had discovered that this figure was a consulting detective, the only in the world, and was a genius. He was constantly being pulled in by Scotland Yard and was more often than not, the reason many cases got solved as fast as they did.

At the stairs was an elderly woman. She had a petite figure and looked to be about 60 or so. Sherlock and this lady started chatting. John, only able to see half the conversation, wasn't paying attention. He was back in his daydreams. This man was signing like a pro. He had signed a relativity complex sentence without staggering once. Sherlock must be as ingenious as all the articles he had read had stated. He found himself wondering if there could possibly be a life with this man as a flat mate. Perhaps John wouldn't have to settle for someplace else. Maybe he could live with Sherlock and… and do what? He had no idea what was going to come next, but, strangely, he didn't feel bothered by that. He was again jolted out his daydreams (he seemed to be doing that a lot since yesterday) by the petite woman giving John a sudden hug.

Sherlock looked to John and said, as well as signed, "Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson."

Mrs. Hudson gave John a warm smile in friendly greeting. John returned the smile with a gentle bow and replied to the non-verbal, "hello" with a friendly, "How do?"

She seemed satisfied with John as she gestured up the steps, "Come in dears. Let's take a look at that flat."

She had turned away, so John hadn't read her lips, but Sherlock, that fantastic, mysterious man, had interpreted. They headed up the steps to the room that was supposed to be their apartment. As he went in he saw that there was still a rather large collection of belongings. It looked like the person to have previously been here hadn't even started to pack yet. John looked around and said, "Well, this could be very nice, very nice indeed."

Sherlock nodded and turned back to John, "Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely. So I went straight ahead and moved in."

John looked around. So, this was what Sherlock was like. He had mountains of books, there was a chemistry set on the kitchen table, and there was a skull on the mantel. He turned to Sherlock and signed silently, "Is that a skull?"

John was testing this man's vocabulary. It appeared that Sherlock in fact didn't know that when John tap the top half of his head and then tap his jaw, that he was saying skull. Sherlock looked confused. John repeated the action and mouthed, "Skull."

The detective eyes lighted up as he registered what John was saying. "That's a friend of mine." He said, "Well, I say friend…" Sherlock's eyes suddenly became very dark, if only for a single moment. John was a bit taken aback. That small moment of darkness in those crystal blue eyes had made John's heart flutter. He wanted to reach out and comfort the tall man in front of him. He wanted to make sure that Sherlock knew he had a friend now. Wait, were they friends? They were getting a flat together. Did that make you friends? Did Sherlock want a friend? Was all of this just to pay for a flat? Great, now this man was messing with John's head.

He rejoined the world again after his brief relapse into his thoughts. Sherlock was trying to get his attention. He finally saw that he was gesturing that Mrs. Hudson had said something. John turned to Mrs. Hudson. She repeated, "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

John felt like someone had just struck him. He had met this man yesterday, "Of course we will be needing two." Did they really look like a couple? Wait, did that mean that Sherlock was… was he… gay? Mrs. Hudson was an old friend of Sherlock's. Maybe she was trying to tell him that his new flat mate truly was a homosexual, which was fine. It was all fine. That had always been John's policy.

Mrs. Hudson looked at John as if he was a sad puppy. "Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." So, Mrs. Hudson truly did think they were a couple. Well, that was peachy. He had known this man for less than 24 hours and they were already speculated to be together. This would be fun…

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A/N: Again, kind of a short chapter. I just wanted to get the ball rolling a little bit. I will try and make sure that my next chapter is a bit longer. It will probably be out next Wednesday, that is, if I don't decided to post sooner.

Have anything you want to say? Questions? Comments? Snide Remarks? It's all fine. Leave me a review to let me know.

~Ciao for now, DeafLord28


	3. Chapter 3

**By The Hands of Sherlock Holmes**

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I meant to do this earlier but, I want to say thanks to all of the people who have follow/favorited/reviewed/whatever-it-is-called

sneakysnakes: Thanks for pointing my spacing problem out. I tried to fix it.

elsarenard: Thanks for pointing out my past tense/present tense flaws. I tried to fix that too, and thanks for the support. I really appropriate it.

U.S. Grant: Thanks for pointing out my spelling and accuracy flaws. I change some of the things to make it more ASL friendly, and it is an AU. There will be changes to the original plot and story. I understand that the Deaf have a hard time talking, I myself am Deaf (hence the DeafLord...) and have some difficulties with talking, but it is inaccurate to say that we don't speak. While talking is more difficult for us, it's no where near impossible. We just have to work a little harder at it then Hearing people. It is also much easier for a Deaf person to talk if they have lost their hearing in later years and aren't born Deaf, as it is in both mine and John's case. Thanks again for pointing out spelling errors.

Danielle: you asked for more, so here it is!

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I do not own Sherlock or any characters related. All right to the original creators.

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A/N: I am aware that Britain uses BSL (British Sign Language) but I am using ASL (American Sign Language) because that is my language. I am Deaf so I use the language I am most familiar with.

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Chapter 3

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John wasn't quite sure what had happened. He had gone to the apartment to check it out with his new 'friend(?)' and was now riding in a cab to the scene of a serial suicide, with said man. He wasn't sure that normally happened when you started a friendship, but then again, Sherlock was obviously not a normal person. That much John knew. What he couldn't figure out was how this man worked? Was he psychic? A stalker? Or just a genius? He was contemplating how he should approach asking Sherlock to explain himself when he found Sherlock placing his phone in John's hand. It read, "You've got questions."

It was a simple statement, but it felt like more. John knew he was being irrational, but it felt like Sherlock was opening himself up for John.

John asked, "Where are we going?"

"Crime Scene. Next." Sherlock signed this somewhat impatiently. John got the feeling that Sherlock was wanting more in depth questions.

John thought momentarily. "Who are you? What do you do?"

Sherlock grabbed his phone back. It seemed he would need to type it up. Perhaps John would get the full story. The phone was returned to John's hand with one simple question, "What do you think?"

John thought back to what he had read and seen. "I would say private detective, but the police don't go to private detectives."

Sherlock seemed agitated with how slow this was going. He grabbed the phone and typed rapidly. "I'm a _consulting_ detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job. Which means when the police are out of their depths, which is always, they consult me."

John blinked at this. "But the police don't consult amateurs."

Now Sherlock seemed happy. He typed and grinned. He looked so smug. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know I saw." Sherlock had typed quite the paragraph. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, 'Bit different from my day.' that said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

John looked at the back of his own phone. He acknowledged the clue in a simple way. He pointed to the engraving on the back and nodded his fist. "Yes. The engraving."

Sherlock was back to typing. "Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

John had to read this at least three times. He was right so far in every aspect except one, but still, "How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

Sherlock smirked gleefully. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. So, you see. You were right. Police don't consult amateurs."

John truly was amazed. This man, Sherlock Holmes was defiantly the most extraordinary man he had met thus far, and he had met quick a few brilliant men in the Army. "That was..." He sat there. *Big huff* He made his hand into a claw shape and shook it back and forth lazily in front of him. Simply, wow, amazing. Sherlock seemed satisfied that he had amazed his companion. Sherlock turned to John. He made a questioning face, drew a question mark in the air and then turned his hands from back to front once. "Are the questions finished?"

"One more." John needed to know the answer to this question. "You seem to know sign language when I first met you, but then at the end of your conversation yesterday, and then much more this morning, you signed. How did you learn so fast?" John paused. "Why did you learn so fast?"

John was sure he was blushing, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't had anyone in his life thus far that had been willing to use his new form of communication, so the idea that a complete stranger would start just for him, well, he was defiantly grateful.

Sherlock sat looking at John. He was calculating. His crystal blue eyes were simply breath taking. They seemed to sparkle with every idea of mystery and adventure. He answered with a very simply sign. He pointed at John, toughed both of his thumbs and fingertips together in the center of his chest, brought them forward, then pointed back at himself. "You interest me."

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Questions? Comments? Snide Remarks? Let me know what you think?

~Ciao for now, DeafLord28


	4. Chapter 4

**By The Hands of Sherlock Holmes**

Chapter 4

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Little bit angst and fluff in this chapter and some swearing, possibly OOC. This is rated T. It will get there eventually.

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I am aware that Britain uses BSL (British Sign Language) but I am using ASL (American Sign Language) because that is my language. I am Deaf so I use the language I am most familiar with.

I don't own Sherlock or any related characters. All rights to the original creators. I am making no profit from this. No infringement intended.

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John wasn't sure what to say to Sherlock's comment in the cab. He had wanted to know why Sherlock had started to learn sign language and all he had said was, "You interest me." He hadn't said another word in the cab. Once they got to the crime scene, Sherlock acted as if he hadn't said anything. Maybe John had just taken it the wrong way. He let it slide... for now.

John was breathless. He and Sherlock had gone to the house were "The Pink Lady" was and had examined her. He watched in awe as Sherlock made deduction after deduction. When Sherlock had asked him to examine the body as well, John did his best. Sherlock had observed John during the whole thing. It had made John just a bit nervous. After a rapid fire run down of who this woman was, Sherlock had raced out, leaving John to get back to the flat himself. He had just hailed a cab, when Harry called him. John rolled his eyes and declined the call.

He sent a message to Harry, "Harry, you insufferable prick! I've told you over and over again, I can't use telephones. I CAN'T HEAR! What do you want?"

"Can't a sister try to get a hold of her brother without being accused of wanting something?"

"No"

"Fine, I was wondering if I could crash at your place for a while. I need a place to stay. I have been staying with Mia, but she kicked me out."

"No, I only just my own place. Go find somewhere else."

"Fine. Bye."

When John got to the flat, he was fuming. He had slammed the door, hearing nothing and unaware of the noise he was creating. He was just about to take off this overcoat when Sherlock came running out of his room, gun in hand.

"John?" He had looked puzzled. "What's wrong?" He had signed clumsily, due to the gun still in his grasp.

John looked shocked. "Sherlock, why do you have that gun?" He wasn't sure why his flat mate look about ready to kill someone, and he wanted to make sure that someone wasn't him.

Sherlock looked down at the gun and then casually tossed it across the room. "I thought you were the murderer. You were very loud coming up the stairs."

John glared at him. He didn't want to deal with this right now. He was mad at Harry, Sherlock, the Army, and whoever was driving the plane that dropped the bomb that killed his hearing. He slumped onto the couch and just glared at the wall.

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He had been staring at the wall for a while. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had realized Sherlock had sat down next to him, until said detective had tapped John' shoulder.

He had his hands, open with a middle finger placed on each shoulder, and then brushed them upwards slightly. In essence, "What's up?"

John grabbed the legal pad and pen from the coffee table and began to write. Once he was done, he handed it to Sherlock for him to read.

"I'm sorry. I'm just aggravated at my sister, Harry."

Here Sherlock paused. "Harry is your sister?" He wrote in the side margins.

John just nodded and signed, "Short for Harriet."

Sherlock continued reading. "She is being a bitch. I have told her over and over again that I am Deaf now and can't continue to live the same way we had before. She doesn't understand that I can't talk on the telephone, I can't go to the movies unless there is Closed Captions, I can't do so much of the stuff we did together before I left for the army. We never really got on well, but we got on better then than we do now."

Sherlock looked up after reading. He looked puzzled. John asked the same question that Sherlock had a moment ago. He placed his hands, open with a middle finger placed on each shoulder, and then brushed them upwards slightly. "What's up?"

"How do you sign...B-I-T-C-H?"

John nearly laughed. Of everything that John had just written, how to sign bitch was the one thing Sherlock wanted to know. He showed him. He put his hand in the 'B' hand shape, and tapped it to his chin. Sherlock repeated. He then asked, "How do you sign...B-O-M-B?"

John clenched both fists, and then made an explosive action. Sherlock repeated. This when on and on for a good fifteen minutes and had covered at least 30 signs. John was enjoying himself. he wasn't sure if Sherlock was trying to get John's mind off of his sister or if he legitimately wanted to know. Maybe both. Was he just trying to get closer to John? Was this how he was trying to establish a friendship? A relationship? No, he couldn't think like that. He had met this man little over 30 hours ago and he was already having... Undecided feelings for him. He was straight, wasn't he? Was he? He was lost in that thought that he hadn't noticed Sherlock trying to get his attention until Sherlock had got up and sat on the coffee table, right in front of John.

"How do you sign...B-O-T-H?"

John showed him. He had his hands in the 'two' shape. He cupped his other hand over them and slide the 'two' hand out. Sherlock attempted to copy but couldn't quite get it. John grabbed Sherlock's hands and formed the into the correct shapes. As he was doing this, he realized just how...elegant Sherlock's hands were. They were so pale, but, very strong. They had a nice shape to them. He mentally shook himself. He then attempting to concentrate on creating the shapes. After he had succeeded in creating the sign, he got up and left. He knew the answer to his question from earlier. He was straight, wasn't he? No. John had to admit it now. He has head-over-heels gay for Sherlock.

* * *

John waited in the bathroom until he was sure he could go back out. When he opened the door he was face-to-face with Sherlock. "What happened?" Sherlock signed.

John wasn't sure how to answer. "I felt sick." He decided to leave it at that.

"Fine." He signed, flopping onto the couch. "I hope you're not too sick to help me. I need you to send a text. The number's on the desk."

"Can't you use your phone?"

"No. There is a chance the number will be recognized. It's on my website."

"Fine. What do you want it to say?"

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin thoughtfully. "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out."

John was confused, but he obliged. "What, when did you black out?"

"I didn't." Sherlock leaped off the couch, went to the kitchen and came back out with a vibrant pink travel case. "Did you send it?"

John was taken aback. Sherlock had the Pink Lady's case.

"Perhaps I should tell you, I'm not the killer."

"I didn't think you were." John signed, a bit too quickly.

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people often think you're the killer?"

"Sometimes, yes."

John just stood there. This man was truly odd. He was one minute being sweet, the next solving a murder case. He didn't know if he would ever figure out Sherlock. He didn't even know if he could figure out himself.

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Sorry it's so short. Hoping to make a longer chapter next.

You like? I am going to start more of the intense T related stuff soon. Have any questions? Comments? Snide remarks? Let me know!

~ Ciao for now, DeafLord28


	5. Chapter 5

*hides behind corner* Don't hurt me. I am truly sorry.I know that there are a few people out there you have actually taken the time to read what I have written and I love you for it. But, I will not be able to continue this story. When I posted the very first chapter of this story, I was very excited, and didn't think about how I would manage to continue it. You see, at the time, the only consistent source of the internet I had was at my college. I didn't think about how I wouldn't be able to write over the summer, as I didn't have a computer of my own to work on. Then as the summer continued, I realized that I wouldn't be able to go back to a public college for my final year. I had to go back to home schooling, which is what I had done when I first learned about my hearing and health issues. When I had gone back to public school, my health was the only thing that limited me. Now, I can't go back to public school because of it. I am continuing my education though. But now, as much as I hate to do this, I have to put this story on a continual hold. I love this story. It's my baby, but I'm going to have to put it on the back burner or now. I know that this story could be a masterpiece, but I don't have the skills yet to make it become that. So, until I have my writing skills honed, I will be practicing my writing on other stories. Once I feel my skills are good enough to restart this story, I will. Thank you to anyone who has ever left a review or Favorited this. I love you dearly for it. Thank you for your support and critics. So, with a sad heart, I have to say, this story is on a continual hold.  
~DeafLord28


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